Think you should play Big Poppa? Fox has placed an open call -- and launched what's sure to be a virulent strain of viral marketing -- for wanna-be B-I-Gees to submit online screen tests beginning today at www.biggiecasting.com. Sort of like the Next Best Thing only with higher stakes.

We've been marvelling these past few weeks that our old favourite band, the Hives, have managed to weather their sales-dip (unwarranted, as Tyrannosaurus Hives was fucking brilliant) without missing a beat: having fully embraced their commercial instincts, they made lemonade out of that Timbaland-collabo lemon by selling it to the WWE (see below) then snuck a sneak peak of their forthcoming single into a Nike commercial (see above).

We've reviewed Justin Timberlake enough that we didn't expect to have anything new to say about his show at the Garden last night, a return trip on a tour that Sharon has already gushed about anyways. Partly we wanted to see how the crowd makeup changes when he had a so-called rock band opening (answer: an even larger ratio boost, this time it appeared to be about 12:1 women).

Insert obligatory joke here about Daft Punk playing at Brooklyn's house/ Lollapalooza's house/ Las Vegas' house / basically anywhere BUT our house. Or just watch the live footage of "Robot Rock," in Brooklyn:

With a new line-up of teen rap phenoms schoolhouse-rocking this summer — the Pack, Huey, Lil' Mama, Sean Kingston — it's a lousy time for an underage pop star to be hitless. So what's a girl to do? If you're Foxborough teen queen Jo-Jo and your sophomore album, The High Road, has already gone one-single-and-out, the answer is our favorite brand of novelty track: an answer song.

Before we get to the regularly-scheduled installment of "Tuesday Ticket Alert," we bring you news of the fall season at the ICA-Boston, which is officially on fire.

September 23: at 4 and 8 pm, MISSION OF BURMA. Boston punk legends make their new ICA debut, presented with The Critique of Pure Reason. Tickets: $25 general admission; $20 members, students, and seniors

We promised, so here's the rest of the Tegan and Sara set from First Act Guitar Studio on Saturday. We cut most of the banter out of the videos, but since we know how precious all that sisterly love is to y'all, we left the conversations in for the mp3s (VBR-encoded, by the way, for the geeks in the audience). The video for the first song from the set (the title track from their new album, The Con) isn't here because we posted it on Saturday, feel free to go have a look-see

On the heels of their largely instrumental Sunday night set at the Opera House, the Beastie Boys turned the motherfuckin’ party out last night at the Pavilion. Dudes were ageless, bounding around the stage trading rhymes and instruments like a hip-hop swap meet for the full duration of their hour-and-a-half, career-spanning set.

You will notice that there are no photos of Pearl Jam here. That's because Pearl Jam is a bunch of dudes who don't like to have their pictures took. Which is smart on their parts, because they old and ugly and boring.

Additional of artists still in possession of their relevance . . . coming soon.

Be glad you weren't a photographer yesterday: a cocktail of rain and uncooperative festival staff conspired against the swarms of shutterbugs who attempted to shoot a little of everything. One lady photog (not ours) was reduced to tears, and not in the good way that reasonable people might have been by the infinitely talented and cool Regina Spektor, who offered sage advice (drink water now, so you'll still be standing later) while pausing her set to check on the well-being of an apparently passed-out audience member.

Anyone who's ever seen Tegan and Sara's "sober sally" sister act knows that about half their stagetime is banter -- a well-honed routine that must be one of the few living examples of the '70s neurotic-folk-chick schtick that once ruled joints like Club Passim.